Unable to sleep, Evie tries to concentrate on her book, but the words won’t stick and after re-reading the same page three times, she gets up and pads to the kitchen where she gulps down a glass of mineral water.
The strains of a romantic melody punctuated by girlish dialogue are coming from the sitting room. Evie walks in to find Star watching TV in the dark, her face illuminated by the flickering screen. Feeling like an intruder, but at the same time enticed by the soft-focus image on the television, Evie creeps into the room and sits down.
Star turns to smile at her, her face angelic in the half-light.
‘Sorry, Evie – did the TV disturb you?’ she asks.
‘No, not at all. I just needed some water. I’m feeling a bit bloated, to be honest. Mind if I join you?’
‘’Course not,’ Star says, pulling a throw around her shoulders, despite the humidity. ‘I love a romcom, me – anything with Julia Roberts or Meg Ryan in it. I prefer the old ones, don’t you?’
‘Yes. But my absolute favourite is Breakfast at Tiffany’s,’ Evie answers, a smile lighting her face in the gloom. ‘It was my mum’s favourite film as well, but she… she passed away recently.’
‘Oh, Evie, I’m sorry. How awful,’ Star says, ‘mine too. Well, not so recently – it’s been a few years now.’
‘Bless you. You’re very young to have lost your mum – was it cancer?’
‘No. She… actually, I’d rather not talk about it.’
Evie watches Star’s face become pinched and hard. Poor kid can’t be more than eighteen or nineteen – no wonder losing her mum is painful to recall. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you,’ Evie says, getting up. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m feeling a bit sleepy now. Goodnight, Star.’
Without looking at her, Star murmurs ‘night’ and Evie goes back to her room. Once inside, she can hear yelps, cries and moans coming from Susanne’s room next door.
Oh god, it’s going to be a long night. She sighs and pulls the sheet over her head to muffle the sound and focusses her mind on Star.
There is something about her – an innocence, perhaps. She doesn’t seem mature enough to even have a boyfriend, let alone a serious one whom she’s at loggerheads with. Evie had seen Dale’s reaction – watchful, suspicious, even. Then again, that wasn’t saying much; Dale could be a prickly pear at the best of times.
Soft moans erupt from the room next door that soon mount in volume, followed by a triumphant shout from Harry. She imagines them, spooning, spent and happy, their long, tanned legs entwined as they whisper endearments into the darkness before falling asleep in each other’s arms.
Dale is up first, prowling the kitchen in a short kimono wrap and flip-flops, bed-hair askew.
‘Morning, Evie,’ she says. ‘Oh my god, did you hear them at it last night?’ she says in a low voice while Evie puts water on to boil.
‘Yes, wish I could say I didn’t,’ Evie says, shaking her head.
Dale shrugs. ‘Well, bang goes my theory.’
Evie is all ears. ‘About what?’
Dale’s eyes dart around, as if someone might overhear them. ‘Let’s take our coffee outside; we can sit by the pool and chat.’
Evie nods, surprised and flattered to be taken into Dale’s confidence.
A tiny silver lizard skitters ahead of them on the terrace, roused by the vibration of their feet. ‘Oh, sweet! Look at him go,’ Dale squeals.
Evie shudders. She’ll never be a fan, although after so many sightings, the shock of seeing small reptiles about the place is wearing off. She holds two steaming mugs while Dale drags a couple of plastic chairs closer to the pool, the water rippling gently under the sun’s early morning glare.
‘What did you mean, Dale… about your theory?’ Evie asks when they are seated, nursing fresh hot coffee.
‘Honestly? I thought that Star might be Harry’s girlfriend, rather than his mysterious mate Sander’s. But judging by last night’s shag fest, I guess I was wrong.’ Dale laughs and shakes her head. ‘This has been the weirdest holiday ever. We’ll all need another one to get over it. Preferably one without any random blokes!’
Evie’s laughter is polite. Unsure how to answer, she changes the subject. ‘I think I might swim today – we’ll miss this pool when we go home. I’m not sure I’m any better at it, but at least I feel a bit braver in the water now.’
Dale stretches her arms over her head and yawns. ‘Evie, love – you can swim well, okay? The only thing you’re missing is confidence. In everything,’ she adds kindly. ‘I know you’ve had some bad knocks, but, well, haven’t we all? Sorry if that sounds harsh, but you just need to grab life by the bollocks and take a few risks.’
Touched by Dale’s attention, Evie can feel herself blushing. ‘I know. I’ve always been a jelly. But I’ve promised myself that I’ll start living when we get back. I’m going to look for a job, do Mum’s – I mean, my – house up and start taking control of my life.’ Evie squeezes her soft midriff. ‘Starting with this… think I might have put a few pounds back on – it’s all the yummy pasta we’ve been eating.’
‘There you go again! Stop with the self-deprecation, you’re lovely as you are,’ Dale snaps, shaking her head. ‘Anyway, lecture over.’ She drags her chair closer to Evie’s and lowers her voice: ‘So, listen to this. I might have been wrong about Star, but young Harry is definitely up to something. Do you know, he still hasn’t phoned home?’
Evie’s eyes widen. ‘How do you know? What’s happened?’
Dale’s expression is triumphant. ‘When we got back yesterday evening, Susanne got a text from Ronnie, basically annoyed that Harry hasn’t been in touch for ages. Get this: it was his birthday while we were in Florence, and he didn’t even give his mum a call. I mean, I know posh folk do things differently to us, but not phoning the woman who gave birth to him? That’s just rude form.’
‘And Susanne told you all this last night? When she said she felt ill?’
‘Yes, but I think she was just tired and crabby – and not at all impressed by Harry being all over Star like a rash.’
‘He was just trying to cheer me up, that’s all.’ Barefoot, Star has stolen up behind them, and is gazing at the pool, her face still puffy from sleep.
‘Star! Sorry,’ Evie says at once, ‘we were just—’
Dale flashes Evie a warning look. ‘We were just wondering why Harry never mentioned his birthday. We could have done something – thrown him a party or taken him out.’
Star’s blonde eyebrows shoot up, her face a picture of surprise and amusement. ‘Oh, well… I didn’t know either. Yeah, why not give him a party tonight? That’ll surprise him. Hey, I can help – that’s if you don’t mind me staying another night. I mean, I wouldn’t want to get in anyone’s way.’ Evie and Dale’s eyes meet.
Dale is right. Evie needs to start taking control of her own life, having opinions and sticking to them instead of deferring to everyone else all the time. Star’s relationship with her boyfriend is none of their business and the very least the women can do is to provide some sisterly support.
‘Star, you’re very welcome,’ Evie says, sounding decisive. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you can stay as long as you want.’
29
Susanne
Susanne wakes early and snuggles closer to Harry. The sleep of the just – or should that be the sleep of youth? She pictures Cody on school-free days, snoring happily, long after the alarm has gone off.
Oh, for goodness’ sake! She must stop comparing the two of them. Harry may be young but he’s twenty-four (she corrects herself: twenty-five, he’s just had a birthday) – ten years older than her son and at a completely different life stage.
Dale’s sad, heated words come back to her: do you imagine Harry moving in with you and being a big brother to Cody?
Would that be so terrible? Nobody would bat an eyelid if it was the other way around and Harry was seventeen years her senior.
Toy-boy was a term she loathed but
that’s what people would call him if Harry became part of her life; it would make her a cougar, which was even worse! At least nobody could accuse Harry of being a gold-digger. His family were wealthy, successful, and soon he’d be working for a fund manager in London, climbing his way up in the world – just as Colin had done in his youth. Oh God, Col – what on earth would her son’s father have to say about it all?
She is doing it again; jumping ahead, giving Harry a significant role in her future, fantasising about a life that could not be. She’d talked a good game, scattering words like holiday romance and fun fling; a shag fest was what Dale had so charmingly called it. And it should have been all those things and certainly nothing more.
And yet.
Something about Harry touches her deeply. The more physically connected they become, the more she sees inside him. Yes, he’d been so full of confidence and given Susanne the ride of her life from their first night together, his moves so practised that they’d bordered on rehearsed. But recently things had changed between them; sometimes, at his most open and vulnerable, the swaggering public schoolboy would seem to vanish, revealing someone gentle and unsure – needy, even – behind that persona.
After coming back from Florence and finding a cuckoo in the nest – for that’s what Star’s arrival felt like – Susanne had watched them together, chatting, playing and flirting. And it had stirred ugly feelings of jealousy and spite. She’d even imagined that Star was involved with Harry, and it had hurt and embarrassed her to the point where she couldn’t face being around the others.
Then the text from Ronnie had arrived and they’d spoken, about Harry’s birthday and how he’d failed to call his family even then. How could anyone, even a single young guy, be so bloody selfish?
To Dale’s credit, when Susanne had relayed the conversation with Ronnie, she’d made little of it – which was most out of character for Dale.
‘Young guys aren’t exactly famous for their tact and diplomacy,’ was all she’d said, before trying to persuade Susanne to join everyone in the kitchen. Susanne had declined, preferring to read in her room. Later, Harry had come to her, with a renewed tenderness, saying he’d missed her terribly and had wished he’d taken her to Florence himself. Lying in his arms, her heart had soared and she’d snuggled closer, pushing Star from her mind, wanting to savour the intimacy between them.
Carefully, so as not to wake him, Susanne slides out of bed, pulls on a light robe and goes into the bathroom.
A welcome breeze stirs the lavender. Susanne catches its delicate scent as she passes by on her way to the pool area, attracted by the laughter that bubbles from it.
‘Good morning. Sorry, I overslept a bit.’ She sounds sheepish even to her own ears. Raucous laughter erupts through the hellos.
Susanne scowls, ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Dale says as her eyes flick to Evie and Star, ‘just being childish. Where’s Harry? Can he still walk?’
‘I’m pretty sure you’ve used that gag before,’ Susanne says, determined to hide her annoyance. ‘I left him asleep. Anyone had breakfast yet?’
Dale shakes her head. ‘No, just coffee. Susie, I told the girls about it being Harry’s birthday while we were in Florence, and we all agree that it would be nice to celebrate. What do you think?’
It’s hard to say what annoys Susanne more: the fact that some exclusive club (the girls and we all indeed – when had everyone got so matey?) has formed without her, or that Dale had betrayed a private conversation. And when had Dale become such a fan of Harry’s that she’s now championing his birthday?
As if realising her lack of tact too late, Dale shrugs. ‘Soz, it’s entirely your call, of course – I just wanted to mention it before Harry gets up.’
Susanne’s smile belies her irritation. ‘Yes, it’s fine. Actually, that’s a great idea. We could surprise him. Evie, Star, what do you think?’
Star grins. ‘Yeah, why not? I’m always up for a party.’
‘We can all chip in,’ Evie says, ‘I’ll make canapes, or something tasty anyway – and maybe a cake!’
Dale gets up and starts to pace. ‘Susie, how about you and I do a booze run? Star, can you get Harry out of the house for a couple of hours while we get our arses in gear?’
Star hesitates. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Susanne is warming to the idea. What the hell? They mean to be kind. ‘All right. Well, I guess that settles it then. Not a word to Harry, okay? Meanwhile, I’ll tackle him about phoning home. I know boys will be boys, but this is ridiculous.’
Harry sits up in bed, a huge grin on his sleepy face. ‘Where did you go, gorgeous girl? I missed you.’
‘Oh, so you’re alive, then,’ Susanne climbs on the bed beside him. ‘Only I did wonder – everyone else has been up for ages.’
Harry kisses her, and with a playful growl, pins her down.
‘Don’t!’ she giggles, pushing him away. ‘I need you to be serious for a minute, Harry.’
Harry groans and mutters that he’s woken up in the doghouse.
‘Not at all, but last night, I had a phone call. From your godmother. Well, actually, she sent me a text and I rang her back. Harry, Ronnie’s worried about you – they all are.’
His expression darkens. ‘Why? Everyone knows where I am. What did you say?’
‘I said that you were in rude health, thanks very much – but that you were being a selfish idiot.’
Harry’s expression is one of incredulity.
Susanne rolls her eyes. ‘Of course I didn’t say that, but, Harry, it’s not very kind, is it? Especially when—’ She pauses, careful to avoid the subject of his birthday. ‘When you’ve been away for months and your dad is paying for your trip!’ Phew, well-rescued.
‘Oh, so you think I’m freeloading. Shit, Susanne, you have no idea!’
Harry gets up, marches to the bathroom and slams the door. When he returns, his face is set as he pulls on clothes discarded hurriedly the night before.
‘Look, why are you so upset? Harry! Talk to me,’ Susanne says, hurt and confused by his reaction.
Dressed, he turns to her, fury in his eyes. ‘Firstly, don’t treat me like a kid and guilt-trip me. Secondly, you don’t know the whole story.’ He swipes a hand through his hair crossly.
‘Then tell me. I’m sorry, Harry. Look, I’m not getting at you, but it puts me in a weird position with Ronnie. I am her guest, after all. Don’t you think I’m already a bit freaked out because of… because of us?’
Harry takes a deep breath. ‘One day, I’ll explain, but right now, I just need to… Oh, never mind.’
Then Susanne is left hanging as he stalks off down the corridor from where she watches him barge into his old room without knocking, mindless as to whether Star is there or not, before he heads out through the front door. Moments later, Susanne hears an engine start and the tell-tale whoosh of gravel as Harry speeds off down the hill.
What just happened? Susanne sits on the edge of her bed, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.
30
Dale
She can see Susanne is suffering. Torturing herself about Harry’s outburst before he took off in a cloud of dust and temper.
‘It was kind of a joke when I called him a selfish idiot, but he took it really badly. I might as well have called him a murderer for how pissed off he was. But, you know… not calling home is incredibly selfish. I just keep thinking how I’d feel if Cody went away for a month or two and didn’t get in touch.’
Dale snorts, in no mood to mince her words. ‘It’s not your fault, Susie. You hit a nerve, that’s all. Because the truth hurts and he’s acting like an egocentric arse. Typical young guy, wants everything his own way, and sod everyone else.’
They are in the booze aisle of the supermarket – or booze shelf, to be more accurate. The modest village store is hardly Sainsbury’s, though it has served them well all holiday long, thanks to Susanne and Evie’s resourcefulness.
&nbs
p; ‘Peroni or Moretti?’ Susanne scrutinises bottled beer brands. ‘Actually, screw that! Can’t believe we’re bloody bothering – there’s no guarantee that Harry will even come back this evening. What if he’s taken off with Joe and Sander, and he goes AWOL for days?’
‘Okay, you’re scaring me now, Susanne. Remarks like that sound an awful lot like you’re obsessed with him. He’s only meant to be a shag fest, remember? We’ll be home in a few days, so you need to chill out about Harry. Let’s get some beers and mixers; we’ve already got wine, gin and a bottle of champagne at the house – and if he doesn’t drink them, we will.’
Dale steers the trolley through aisles lined with snacks and fancies, stuffing it with crisps, nuts and chocolate-covered marshmallows.
‘It looks like we’re shopping for a kid’s party,’ Susanne says, watching the mound of junk food grow.
‘My lips are sealed,’ Dale says, giving her friend a playful shove.
Evie is red in the face, a smear of flour across her right cheek and a tell-tale glob of chocolate at the corner of her mouth.
She indicates a triple-layer sponge cake topped with cocoa frosting. ‘What do you think?’
Dale and Susanne exclaim over Evie’s handiwork, marvelling at how she’s managed to bake such an extravagant masterpiece in a strange kitchen with odd baking tins and no scales except for a set of measuring spoons with the numbers almost worn away.
‘So now we have a shedload of alcohol, a ton of crisps and junk, and a gorgeous cake. What we don’t have is the birthday boy,’ Dale says, mentally adding the sulky brat, while managing to keep her face a judgement-free zone.
The Perfect Liar: A completely gripping thriller with a breathtaking twist Page 13